


Hesitance

by Mis_Shapes



Series: Regency AU [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Regency, Dancing, F/M, Jealousy, Jeyne's canonical fancy for redheads, Minor Sansa Stark/Aegon IV Targaryen, Minor Theon Greyjoy/Robb Stark, Museums, Oral Sex, Scandal, balls
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 13:14:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29966934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mis_Shapes/pseuds/Mis_Shapes
Summary: He had looked handsome the night before, stately in his reticence with steel eyes, in both colour and hard nature, and set jaw. Today his expression is softened, it is a different sort of beauty and she finds herself struck by how personable he is now she has gotten past what she misinterpreted as condescension. For a moment, she allows herself the hope that is her that has sparked this change in attitude until she dismisses it on account of the reception she had received at that prior meeting.Jeyne joins Sansa and the rest of the beau monde in London where they run into family and old acquaintances. Little but the appearance of Jon Snow appears to have changed about him, he is still the reserved young man that had treated her with polite indifference since adolescence, and finding herself a spectator of others' love-lives, she has doubts that she will ever have one of her own, but events have her reconsidering these conclusions.
Relationships: Jeyne Poole/Jon Snow, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Regency AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2188698
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	Hesitance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MymbleHowl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MymbleHowl/gifts).



> I feel kinda crazy writing this, it's so self-indulgent, but there you go. Thank you to those of you who have been encouraging, including MymbleHowl to whom I have taken the liberty of gifting it. It's very strange writing Jeyne POV so I hope it's ok!
> 
> This runs alongside the Throbb fic in the series. If you would like to read both I think it’s better to start with the other one.
> 
> ...also, I refer to the Elgin Marbles as that is what they were called, but remember they are the Parthenon Marbles because fuck that shit.

“I do wish you would allow Shae to do something a little more elaborate with your hair, Jeyne,” says Sansa from the chair at the dressing table while the pretty lady’s maid secures her thick auburn hair in the style she has opted for with pins.

Sansa eyes her carefully in the reflection of the mirror, but Jeyne only smiles politely and goes back to stroking Lady on the floor. At Winterfell, the dogs had been allowed on select items of furniture. Here in the Baratheon’s London house, however, it is strictly forbidden, and so the girls have resorted to sitting down there with her, sprawled on the carpet; at least when Miss Mordane is absent that is. The aging governess would have her guts for garters if she were to discover she was treating her evening dress in such a way.

At the other side of the room, Jeyne can hear Sansa appealing to Shae to encourage Jeyne also, discussing the intricate braids Lady Daenerys had worn the day prior. Jeyne knows well enough that Shae will be smiling in the same way she does herself. They each know there is a risk in being seen to have ideas above their station in life. It is tempting, of course, to relent. Perhaps she might capture the attention of another. In her flights of fancy, she wonders if perhaps Robb might notice her. It is foolish to think such a thing, but what a dream it would be to be mistress of such a place as Winterfell, to be secure in her future and home, to be Sansa’s sister-in-law.

In another such plan she believes she might be content to be Sansa’s lady’s maid and someday a great house’s housekeeper. It is surely in her favour to be a steward’s daughter in that respect. If that house happened to be Castle Winterfell then all the better.

“I do wonder if he will be joining us,” Sansa says dreamily once Shae has left them. “It is quite exciting to have a duke in one's company, is it not? I should like us all to remain in one another’s circles.” She turns her head to give her hair another look in the mirror and smoothes out a small area. “How does it look?”

Jeyne beams brightly at her. “Splendid.” It had once been enjoyable to share with one another who they might have a tendre for. Now, it is a touch more complicated. Jeyne wonders if Sansa knows just how she sounds. Although she may express with her words a desire to be friends with Aegon Targaryen alongside her future husband, her tone of voice tells a different tale.

All things considered, Jeyne is relieved to see no sign of His Grace, nor of Lord Stormsend, at their arrival at the assembly halls alongside Cersei. That might perhaps be on account of the high numbers and a great deal of interest their companion draws to her presence, it being difficult to see many of the occupants in the room who have not joined them and all. 

She’s delighted, when she sees through the gap in the crowds, to see Theon Greyjoy. A familiar face in such places is nearly always a sight for sore eyes unless the person is very disagreeable. While Lord Greyjoy is something of a rake, and indeed he does have a considerable amount of notoriety in that respect, once one gets past some of his quirks he is really very charming and it also has to be said - quite handsome.

“Lady Sansa.” The viscount bows first to Sansa when he appears before them. When he looks at her, Jeyne is sure he will have forgotten her name. It is a more common occurrence than she would like, and if the rumours are true, she should be surprised if he can retain all the names of the ladies with which he is acquainted. And surprised she is. “Miss Poole.” He bows a little deeper to Cersei, a twinkle in his eyes. “Your grace, how do you do?”

“Very well, Lord Greyjoy,” she says, glancing away and disguising a smirk with flicks of her fan. “I trust you are in good health?”

Lord Greyjoy gestures towards the man standing alongside him. “May I present Mr Patrek Mallister?” It is not a name Jeyne is familiar with, but from his demeanour she is certain he will prove to be as gallant as his chum.

Jeyne smiles and dips her head. “Mr Mallister.” 

Lady Cersei soon leaves them to join her friends which are of more importance to her, and Jeyne cannot say she is not grateful for this. Though the duchess is beautiful and one of society’s favourites, she is also a frightful creature. No doubt she will be keeping an eye on them if only from afar.

“Miss Poole, do you happen to have space on your card to allow me a dance?” Patrek offers out his hand for Jeyne to place her own.

She can hardly believe her luck. To be invited to dance at her first ball in such short a time, and by such a smart-looking partner too! He is even pleasant to speak with when he leads her away and back to her friend following the minuet. Truly, she is sure by the end of the night her cheeks shall ache for smiling. If it were not for the balm of finding Robb now arrived on their return she would curse the end of the dance. All is forgotten by the time her gloved hand is in Lord Winterfell’s own.

“Are you enjoying your stay in London?” Robb asks her just as she is scrambling to think of a topic of conversation.

“We have been blessed with fine weather,” she answers politely, “and the Duke of Stormlands’ house is very grand, and comfortable too. I shouldn’t wish for a more pleasant start to the season. And you, my lord? I would imagine perhaps it might seem a little dull in comparison to your travels?”

The young earl who has been very much missed by all smiles softly as he looks back to his sister before turning his eyes on her. He has gained more freckles in the Mediterranean sun. On others, some might think it unbecoming, on Robb it only gives him more allure. “That may be true of the city, but not of the company.”

Jeyne’s heart flutters in her chest as they start the English country dance. On a turn, the bright colour of a coat catches her eye and on closer inspection, it is worn by another member of the Stark household. Jeyne had not yet set eyes on Jon Snow which really is something to marvel at considering how incredibly dashing he looks in it.

“By the by,” says Jeyne once they have finished the jig, intending for it to come out naturally, “tomorrow we are to visit the Elgin Marbles.”

Raised to pick up subtle invitations, Robb takes it up. “I may join you if you will permit it. It was a crying shame not to see them in place. I am not well versed in these matters, however, I would think them more picturesque in their home.”

“To be sure,” Jeyne agrees anxiously, “I am convinced that is the way of things. It is a pity not to see the ruins myself. Indeed, it is a pity that I am restricted in where I may travel.”

Robb nods his head from side to side with a sympathetic expression as he considers this. “Perhaps it is a possibility that you might find yourself on a wedding tour now we are free of Napoleon.” Jeyne flushes and is relieved when his attention has shifted from her. She might’ve humbly denied this as a possibility, but that would open it up to being interpreted that she did in fact think it conceivable that she could soon be wed when he may have only meant she might go as Sansa’s companion. “Speaking of…”

Somewhere along the way of their drift away from the dance floor, Lord Winterfell has turned them towards his half brother. 

Their arrival is met with a small slither of a smile as Robb claps his hand on Jon’s shoulder. “I have been discussing the continent with Miss Poole. We have you in our thanks,” he says jovially. “For our freedom.”

“In truth, I had little to do with,” admits Jon.

Winterfell laughs. Jeyne is sure the merry sound of it alone draws eyes. The heir would be popular on his standing alone and it is enhanced on account of how agreeable he is and his deportment. “Snow, you should take the opportunity to practice for when you are in the presence of a lady you wish to charm. Is that not so, Jeyne? Tell him; he should take all the credit he is allowed. From my observation, the fairer sex are quite partial to war heroes.”

Certain she is pink in the cheeks, Jeyne lowers her eyes, focusing on the shine of the candles in the brass buttons covering Mr Snow’s uniform. “I cannot speak for us all, but certainly, sir, you must take credit where credit is indeed due.”

“There you have it!” says Robb, triumphant. Already, his attention is beginning to drift. Eyes darting away to follow Lord Greyjoy heading out from the large room on the other side of the lines of couples dancing. “Now, Jon, please look after our dear Miss Poole a moment or two, I beg your leave, I must have a word with Mallister.”

Jeyne chews her lip and brings her hands together out of habit when Winterfell turns to leave them both. If it were not for the kid gloves she wears she might have picked her nails but thankfully she is saved from that. Instead, she smoothes out the front of her evening gown.

Jon’s presence has oft made her anxious. In their childhood, she and Sansa had played with her friend’s older brothers as siblings might. As time went on they grew out of that way, but while Robb had remained friendly Jon had grown ever more withdrawn. In some respects it was understandable. Age had made them more aware of their places in society and propriety compelled them to place some barriers, but his behaviour had seemed disproportionate to their situation. The familiarity of their families allowed them some liberty. More often than not she was met with polite indifference.

The brooding silence is broken by Jon clearing his throat. “Your dress is very pretty. Did you embroider it yourself?”

Taken aback, Jeyne’s fingers find the tambour work of strawberries on her neckline. She looks down, much like she has never seen the design before. “Thank you! Yes.” The dress of fine muslin had once belonged to Sansa before she had grown too tall for it, even after taking down the hem. Now being a couple of years old, she had decided to spruce it up a little. When she returns her gaze back to him, his has dropped to her fingertips. Unlike his siblings with the fair Tully look of their mother, Jon’s darker-skin is less liable to flushing pink, but he looks hastily away and betrays his embarrassment to her.

Jeyne decides to hint at her suspicion that they would be better off dancing than standing side by side in strained conversation. “I wonder if they are short a pair or two.” Elevating herself onto her toes she makes a show of looking. 

Either oblivious to the suggestion or unwilling to act on it, Jon follows her line of sight but only says, “I am not certain. I so rarely attend balls and know little in the way of dances.”

“... And yet here you are.”

“Suppositions of my being unsociable would be made if I were not to make occasional appearances and I wish to make an impression on my seniors who are present.”

“I see,” says Jeyne quietly, furrowing her brows. 

In the corner of her eye, she sees him turn his head to look at her briefly. “You think me ill-mannered.” There is no reason to deny it. She is certain there is little reason for keeping up the pretence of civility. “Forgive me. I simply believe it would be more prudent for you to dance with another.”

“Pardon?”

Shoulders remaining taut, Jon’s chest heaves. “I do not know how best to express my beliefs without seeming impertinent.”

“I must tell you, Mr Snow, that on that account you have failed,” Jeyne snaps. She will be mortified with herself when the flames of anger have been quenched. “Please excuse me.” With that, she spins her back to him and weaves her way through the crowd in search of a friendlier face.

* * *

Around her, the world goes on, noise echoes around the Elgin Room, but Jeyne finds herself caught up with the statue on the reclining Dionysus. Although she might have seen such sculptures in reproduced sketches in the library at Winterfell, nothing has prepared her for such a piece. It is a surprise Miss Mordane, prude as she is, has permitted them to visit the marbles.

Her drift into her own world has distracted her from Sansa’s departure from her side. Having moved along, her friend is now in the company of Aegon Targaryen, smiling sweetly while he discusses the artwork. The thought of how displeased with her Sansa would be dissuades her from acting out her contemplation of joining them both. When Jeyne turns to check on the location of their chaperon, she finds Jon standing alongside her.

“Jon!” she exclaims, pressing a hand against her chest.

“I beg your pardon, Miss Poole,” says the lieutenant with what Jeyne believes to be a faint smile on his ordinarily sullen face, “I have given you a fright.”

“A little perhaps,” Jeyne agrees, her lips curling into a bashful smile of her own while she averts her eyes to the floor, allowing her bonnet to mask her face. “Were you looking for your sister? Sansa has just turned the corner I believe.”

“No, I have already found the person I was seeking.”

Jeyne frowns, confused. “Oh?” A light chuckle passes his lips and she is struck with the realisation. Her cheeks burn. “You are speaking of me?”

“Yes, it would be an extraordinary coincidence if I had come to meet another, would it not?” He arches a brow.

“I suppose.” Jeyne turns her attention away from him and to the information card by the statue, struggling for what else to say to that. Seeking her? It cannot be that he is calling on her, not after refusing to dance and now this, mocking her yet again in a public space. Would she like for him to be? 

“Robb requested I come with his apologies,” Jon explains after a pause. “He has become occupied and will not be able to join you today.”

She glances back, locking eyes with his. “His apo--?” _Oh._ She had quite forgotten _._ A trifle disappointed, though she doesn’t know whether this is sparked by Robb’s absence or Jon’s admittance that he is merely running an errand for his brother, Jeyne says,“that wasn’t necessary, but I am much obliged.”

“Is this your favourite?” asks Jon, still looking humoured as he spins to look at the nude form of the god.

He had looked handsome the night before, stately in his reticence with steel eyes, in both colour and hard nature, and set jaw. Today his expression is softened, it is a different sort of beauty and she finds herself struck by how personable he is now she has gotten past what she misinterpreted as condescension. For a moment, she allows herself the hope that is her that has sparked this change in attitude until she dismisses it on account of the reception she had received at that prior meeting.

Something comes over her. It is like she is a young girl again. She clicks on the roof of her mouth whilst the hand closest to Jon moves with a will of its own, giving him a light push on his arm. She knows from the resistance she feels in this sturdy body of his that he is unaffected from the small force, but he angles away dramatically in jest as though he were.

“Stop,” she hisses at him, looking up at him through her lashes and stifling a laugh, “people are looking.”

“Perhaps I should tell them you have harmed me. A warrior has freed herself from the Amazonomachy.”

Jeyne makes an unladylike noise much like a snort.

“Mr Snow,” Miss Mordane interrupts them from behind their backs and has them both jump. This in itself requires her to hold back further laughter with her fingertips pressed to her lip despite the governess inquisitive countenance. One wouldn’t know they were each now grown. “We didn’t expect the pleasure of your company today.”

“I was released for the day and Robb informed me of the excursion, madam. I hope I am not intruding?” says Jon after bowing his head to her. 

Jeyne could swear the woman’s chest visibly puffs up at the polite address. 

“No at all, you are quite welcome.” Her eye is drawn to Sansa and Aegon by the girl’s titter. “May I prevail upon you to keep in Miss Poole’s company a moment longer? I have a matter I need to attend to.”

“Certainly.” Jon nods; not that the chaperone sees as she has already turned from them to charge across the room. Once alone again, they share a smile. “I have found myself in her good books. What a strange feeling it is.”

Perhaps it would be nice if he should wish to court her. Not that she holds much hope of it, it’s improvement enough to have him speaking with her.

“It does seem that way…” Jeyne chuckles. “Say... you do not look concerned with your dear sister's company.” She regrets it as soon as she has said it, an observation she should have kept to herself.

Jon’s smile slips. “I wouldn’t presume to become involved in such a thing, it is not my place to… and… truth be told, I hardly think many could be much worse than the marquess.” His nose wrinkles a little with distaste. “I am sure few are as insufferable as that odious fellow.”

“Oh,” breathes Jeyne, puzzled.

Lips drawn straight, he reaches to scratch briefly the back of his neck. “I beg your pardon, that was rather uncouth of me, I know. I can be too blunt at times.”

“No…” Jeyne denies it with a shake of her head. _It is only that Sansa believes you to be troubled with her being perceived to give encouragement and the intentions of those who approach her._

Jon clears his throat. “Would you care to move on?”

Any opportunity to speak with him further after he walks her over to Miss Mordane, Sansa, and the would-be suitor is thwarted by the involvement of other members of the now larger group and from then on the outing’s atmosphere becomes a little more subdued. It had been odd to hear him voice his disapproval of Joffrey. Jeyne wonders how many others feel the same as they each do. She also ponders how things might’ve been had she set them on a jollier topic of conversation.

**Author's Note:**

> Writing rarepairs is always a little stressful and I'm in a bit of a slump - would very much appreciate any kudos and comments.


End file.
